Wizards Conclave

Chapter 14
A Cosmos Unbalanced

Storms boiled and churned through the ether, spanning the void between worlds, swelling in the gaps among all the planes. Clouds of black billowed beyond all horizons, looming vast and dark and deadly. Immortal anger rumbled through all existence, fueled by the undying rivalry, the distrust, and the suspicion that ever marked the three colors of magic. Nuitari and Lunitari fumed and seethed, roared and spouted, and their fury coalesced in a storm that their alabaster cousin was forced to acknowledge and confront.

The three gods of magic met in the heart of the storm. They were the undisputed masters of the cosmic tumult, poised in balance atop the raging, seething force of the gale. Red lightning flashed and crackled, casting brilliant, flashing illumination across the trio of immortal visages. White light churned from a new sun, driving back the chill of the vast emptiness. And perfect blackness framed them all, a void that gave proof to their vitality.

"Foul!" cried Nuitari of the black moon, a gust of pure midnight blasting toward Solinari, surrounding him, welling up until it all but obscured him from their sight. "You betrayed our compact!"

"Betrayal!" boiled Lunitari the red. Red tongues of fire flared, embracing the white god, driving like blazing knives and swords against his immortal flesh. "Our trust is violated-our alliance imperiled."

The red and black violence surged, rising higher, surrounding them all, extending tendrils of destruction far beyond, into all the corners of creation. Other, lesser gods recoiled from the conflict, and those mortals who beheld the strife-they did so in their dreams, if at all-trembled and quaked, praying only for the daylight to come and soothe their fears.

"But for what cause is this most unjust protest?" asked Solinari calmly, his corona of white shielding him, for now, from the wrath of his fellows. "There has been no betrayal, no foul on my part. As ever, I seek to mend relations, to soothe the path of cooperation and friendship. Nay, if at all, these traits you accuse me of are hallmarks more of your own behavior."

His tone was reasonable, his mystification apparent, but even so, his cousins disdained his words, roaring closer in fury and vengeance.

"The girl who wears no robe has gone to the Tower alone! She meets with the Master, even as we speak!" cried Lunitari, her tone shrill. "While my devoted servant strives to find Wayreth, the Master comes to this child disguised as Par-Salian of the White Robe-what more proof do we need? You have tried to steal a march upon us, to maneuver the world into alignment with your favorite!"

"Not I!" cried Solinari, white beard quivering with indignation, raising his hands. "Cease these unfounded attacks! Lay back the furious tempest and let us talk about this calmly, with the dignity that befits our status."

"You deny it, then?" asked Nuitari viciously. "You claim the girl has not entered the sacred place, alone? I know that my own dark elf has, like the Red Robe, been thwarted in his great quest. Do you still claim that you have not given her the access that has been barred to both of our wizards? How can you make such a claim, when we can all see the proof through the lens of the Tower?"

"Well, of course she has arrived in the Tower of High Sorcery-have we not all observed that fact, through the eyes of the Master? And is this not proof that the Master of the Tower serves us all? I will have no further talk of treachery and betrayal-why, the very idea!"

The white god, his immortal reputation assailed, effected a tone of high dudgeon. Pure light pulsed in the midst of the storm, and thus the black clouds and the crimson lightning, eased back slightly. The corona rose higher above the dangerous storms, bright light striving for release.

But immortal rage still glowered and grumbled. The thunderheads of cosmic distress reared anew, and the brightness flickered and was muffled.

"Bah," Nuitari retorted. "Your servant has gone in before my own agent, or our cousin's. How is this not treachery? We both know what kind of advantage she seeks-she will infiltrate the Conclave, holding the other robes at bay. This is a betrayal that overrules anything that has happened in our immortal past! It is a treachery that cannot be allowed to stand!"

"It is not treachery, not betrayal, for a very simple reason. Because," Solinari continued, with an elaborate air of patience, as if he were lecturing stubborn and unruly children, "the girl does not wear the white robe. As you yourself stated, Fair Cousin-she is a girl of no robe, at the present."

"So she wears no robe at all, now, at the present? This matters not," cried Lunitari, "for she is your foil, your tool!"

"Your statement is proof of its own falseness. How can she be my tool, when she does not wear my robe?"

"She lacks but the Test, and you are arranging it so that she will soon have that chance. Do you deny that you seek to give her the white robe?"

Solinari shrugged his cosmic shoulders. "Of course not. But do either of you deny that you do not seek the same, with your own chosen colors?"

"I have my agent of red," Lunitari dismissed. "She has served me well and kept the faith of my creed even when the Dark Queen stole our world away. Now she seeks to spread the cause of magic around the world. I am well satisfied."

"As am I, with the dark elf who serves my own faction," Nuitari noted. His stormy visage darkened. "Though he labors from a position of weakness, since you both laid such a harsh condition on his return from the dead. Yet he is wily, and powerful in the ways of magic. He will remain my champion. As you well know!"

"Ah, but he did return from the land of the dead, did he not? And he does indeed seem to be on the way toward a restoration of his prominence." Solinari blew a cloud of steam, a billowing construct of cumulous that reflected the redness of Lunitari and brightened the aspects of them all.

"Besides, when have either of you, or any of us, been satisfied with that? If she is granted the Test, you will surely seek to steer her toward the color you wish her to wear. Is that not true?"

"We may steer, influence, guide. But her soul is free, and her soul leans toward the white," argued the black moon god.

"That much is clear. Furthermore, for the full Conclave to gather, we need wizards of all three robes. It is in our own interests to see that one wears the white," accused Lunitari.

"Then how may I be accused of treachery, if this serves the ends of us all?" inquired Solinari, with a great air of innocence.

"Enough of these word games!" spat Nuitari. "We concede, the girl must take the Test-and, as always, the Test will choose the robe. But we see your alabaster hand in this, Elder Cousin. And we demand satisfaction!"

"Satisfaction? In what way?"

"We will overlook the treachery that brought her alone to the Tower, leaving our wizards lost in the woods. But when she takes the Test, and earns her reward, let that reward be a gift that will serve all three robes."

"Hmm. Very well," Solinari agreed, easily. "That is only a fair condition. Should she succeed, she will be blessed with a boon for each of the orders. But let this be the result, no matter what the color of her robe."

And so it was that the gods of magic agreed.

Finally the Master felt as though he could breathe again, as if a monstrous weight had been lifted from his chest. The human body was a remarkable vessel, and he never felt so alive as he did when he wore the flesh of man. But a cloak of flesh was a rare treat and had been so ever since his gods had been stolen away. There had been a glimmer of hope when the moons again appeared in the sky, until the Master's domain had fallen under the corrupting influence of the two sorcerers. The very stone of the Tower, his eternal body, continued to suffer and complain under their relentless tortures.

Then had come the arrival, like a blessing from the gods, of this mysterious girl. It was this that gave him hope, allowed him again to feel vital. There was new promise in her bright eyes and fresh skin, new hope in the vibrant power that he sensed lay untapped within her.

He would make her welcome and hope that she could help him. The food had been an easy first offering-just by looking at her, he could sense her gnawing hunger. Now he needed to talk to her, to learn, and to teach.

For this initial encounter he had chosen the guise of one of his favorites. He appeared as old Par-Salian, white-bearded and avuncular. He thought this shape would be less inclined to frighten the girl, than would the images of, say, severe Justarius, or lean and ever-hungry Fistandantilus. Par-Salian was a benign presence. And, too, the Master felt the girl would treat the esteemed White Robe with the dignity that he deserved.

At first, he was not sure that his benign intentions had been perceived. The girl's initial impression had been shock, and then she seemed to be afraid. But she gazed at the repast on the table, and then at the Master, and he could tell that she was not inclined to run. She had only eaten a little before his arrival, and he sensed her hunger, saw it in the longing looks she cast toward the food.

"I hope you like the bread," he said. "It is one of the classic recipes. I conjured it just as it was baked a thousand years ago, in the ovens of Ergoth."

"It… it is very good," she said cautiously. As if reminding herself, she tore off another large piece and chewed it vigorously, following the bread with a large drink of cold milk. Only after she had swallowed the food did she look at him curiously. "You said you are the 'Master of the Tower.' What does that mean?" she asked.

He sighed and allowed himself the liberty of sitting at the table near her as she slowly resumed her eating.

"In a sense, I am this tower… the presence, the sentience of this place, such as it exists. This flesh, this body you see"- he indicated himself, the elderly man in the white robe-"is something that I choose, that I can vary."

In that very instant he changed, for her benefit. Now he wore a red robe and sat tall, a proud man with black skin and a haughty demeanor. Then he became a female, garbed in a slinky black robe, with eyes shadowed in blue henna and a mouth that curled in a demure smile. In another blink he was Par-Salian again, holding up a liver-spotted hand to calm the girl-who was staring at him in amazement.

"I am the Tower, and I am all who dwelled here, all who served as the Heads of the Conclave and all who studied under their tutelage. This tower has stood for thousands of years, and in that time there have been many who have ruled the orders of magic. Mostly humans, but some elves… I can select the forms of any of them. But I chose Par-Salian, for you."

"Thank you," she said. "I–I think I like this one better than some of the other shapes you might have adopted."

He chuckled dryly. "Well, thank you for humoring an old man, in any event."

"But why am I here? I was traveling with two great wizards, and I know they were seeking this tower. Why did I find it, and they did not?"

"Because you, Child, are the one-the only one-who can help me, now."

"Help you? How?"

He sighed. "There are bad men here. Men who are killing me. I invited them in because the gods commanded me to find a wizard to take the Tower. I summoned them-well, not them, but a wizard. These two came under false pretenses, bearing an artifact of potent magic, wielding it as great wizards would. But they are not wizards. They are sorcerers, wielders of wild magic. They dwell here like a cancer in my flesh, slowly taking my life."

"How can I help you?" The girl seemed mystified but- this was encouraging to the Master-bold.

"You must take the Test of Magic," said the Master.

"A test of magic? Why? How could I?"

"The Test will know you, do not worry. But you must convince them to let you live long enough to take the Test. If they kill you, then all is lost."

"I daresay!" the girl said, her eyes widening in alarm. Where are they now?"

The old man shrugged. "Elsewhere in the Tower. It is a very large place. But no doubt they will find you, soon enough."

She was courageous, this girl, but couldn't help looking around in some apprehension. "How can I fight them?"

"Oh, you can't. They are much too powerful for that. Even I cannot fight them-especially the tall one, with the long beard. He is most dangerous. And he bears the Irda Stone."

"The what-stone? Never mind. Tell me, why shouldn't I run away, while I still have a chance? I don't want to be killed!"

"If you leave here now, then all is lost-for me, you, and others to come. No, you must stay, and you must survive, and you must convince them to grant you the Test!"

"And if I do?"

"Then you must pass the Test!"

"What happens if I fail?"

"Well, you will die, of course. Death is ever the penalty for failing the Test-either that, or ultimate, hopeless madness. But that's not the worst part."

"Really! Just what is the worst part?" The girl's face had grown quite pale, though her voice was remarkably steady.

"The worst part is that, if you die here, you will doom the future of magic on Krynn."