Wizards Conclave

Chapter 7
Wizards of White and Black

Dalamar the Dark rode his magic steed through the skies of Krynn. Wind whistled past, flapping his black robe against his lean frame, streaming his hair into a long tail behind him. He squinted, leaned low, and looked down to study the forest of Qualinesti as it undulated past. To his right, the snowy peaks of the High Kharolis gleamed, a horizontal necklace of eternal ice. Dark thunderheads loomed over that great mountain range, though the air before the wizard was clear, lofting to a sky of pale blue.

The phantom steed he rode was a ghostly shape, sleek and horselike as it pulsed and shimmered in the air, vaulting the dark elf through the sky with speed approaching dragon-flight. For hours he had flown over a seemingly endless forest, but he knew that before midafternoon he would arrive at his destination-even though Solace lay hundreds of miles to the northeast, beyond the far border of Qualinesti.

A sense of growing urgency propelled him, allowing for no delay. He recognized that he needed help. For too long he had been alone. Since he had awakened, starving and weak in a small cave in Silvanesti, he had learned to relish his mortal flesh again, even those flaws, those proofs of life, such as the hunger that periodically gnawed at his belly. While he languished under the black power of Mina, those things had been gone from his existence.

Dalamar shuddered momentarily then sneered at the memory of Mina; it didn't matter. That was over now, her dark power broken. He flexed his muscles, feeling them ripple beneath his smooth, unblemished skin. He rotated his arms, flexed his fingers, leaned back, and relished the smooth and uncomplaining response of his muscles. Another treasure.of life… another thing for him to cherish.

He had learned to cherish the bad along with the good. He remembered, upon awakening, that he had pulled aside the black robe covering his chest and looked down to see five bleeding sores. These had been marks of discipline, the punishment of his Shalafi many decades ago. They would never heal, not so long as he breathed-and for once, the presence of the oozing marks reassured, even pleased, him.

For, by all the gods, he lived again!

That life itself was a reward of sorts surprised him, but he was grateful that it had been granted to him. The greatest gift, the true blessing that the gods had bestowed upon him when they restored him to life, was neither the pumping of his blood, nor his complete control over the physical form of his body. It was something that he sensed in his mind and in his soul, a churning, growing power that bubbled there, percolating through his thoughts, permeating his very being. And he knew:

His master of magic had returned. Nuitari, the black moon, once again soared through the skies of Krynn.

Even before Mina had taken him, the dark elf had languished for long years, despairing of ever wielding his black arts again. Of course, he had dabbled in the wild sorcery, even learned some of the art of necromancy, but that had been a pale imitation of true magic, the blessed power of his god, Nuitari. Always there had been the taint of corruption around the wild magic. Now that the god Nuitari, and his magical cousins, had returned to the cosmos, wild sorcery was nothing less than pale imitation-no, blasphemy.

Indeed, Dalamar knew his destiny: He would be the leading prophet of that ancient magic, and he would drive the corruption of sorcery back into the shadows where it belonged. Lovingly Dalamar traced his hands over the silver runes embroidered into his robe, as the material fluttered and flapped in the wind of his passage. For decades the runes had been dull and silent; now they glowed and sparkled, and he could feel the warmth of their power in the mere touch of his fingers. They were potent again, and this robe was no longer a mere garment. It was his badge, his armor, his herald, all in one.

He thought of the great Tower of Sorcery where once he had been Master. Here the first taint of bitterness soured his mood. The place he most desired to see again, the place where his greatest treasures were stored, where he had collected the most remarkable library of magical books in the history of the world… that place was barred to him, forever. It had been the one condition exacted by those ever-jealous gods, Solinari and Lunitari, before they would allow Nuitari to restore his favored devotee to life. Dalamar had accepted the condition-to refuse would have meant permanent, irrevocable death-and at the time had not even regarded it as a very burdensome restriction.

In the past weeks, however, he began to understand the full cost of that banishment. He remembered not only his own spell books left there, but the night-blue tomes scribed by Fistandantilus himself, and the black, hourglass — sigil volumes that were the legacy of his Shalafi, Raistlin Majere. All those wonderful books were gone to him. Many contained enchantments unique in the history of Krynn, enchantments that were lost not just to Dalamar but to the world. Perhaps someday he could reconstruct-

No… the dark elf's lip curled into a sneer of contempt as he mouthed the word. Those spells would never be restored, for the world did not deserve to receive his largesse.

Even as his bitterness settled into a dull anger, Dalamar shrugged away any inclination to despair. As his homeland was merely a place, his spell books were merely objects. He had his life back, and even without those spell books he knew how to put his magical power to use.

His thoughts had turned to another tower, the one place in Krynn that might house an equal, perhaps even greater, trove of magical lore. The Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth Forest was the traditional center of magical study, the place where aspiring mages-including Dalamar himself, in a time lost to the far, far past-went to learn the arcane arts. The most talented of the mages were granted an opportunity to take the Test, with those who passed being awarded a robe in the color-red, black, or white-of the god who most favored the apprentice mage. There, at the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth Forest, he had sworn allegiance to the Conclave, working on behalf of wizards of all three robes, spying upon, and eventually betraying, his Shalafi. Again he touched his chest, this time with a grimace-those five wounds now, and forever, the legacy of that betrayal.

Of course, the Tower of High Sorcery was not easy to find… unless it wanted one to find it. Dalamar had been more fortunate than most; in the past; when he had needed to go to the Tower, the path had opened before him. Indeed, though Wayreth Forest lay to the west of distant Qualinesti, the dark elf had entered that enchanted wood from places as distant as Ergoth and Solamnia. He saw no reason the path would not welcome him again, from here. So he had embarked, months ago, on a search for the Tower.

But, for the first time in his life, the Tower had refused to acknowledge him. After a long and fruitless search, he was now in the air, flying to visit a man he had never expected to see again. During the flight, he took note of the scope of devastation that had wracked that once pastoral land, the land the Qualinesti had lost to Beryl, the place where that massive green dragon had died. Villages were now blackened ruins, burned to ashes. Much of the forest was shattered, trees knocked down every which way, or languishing in a wilting that browned the leaves and left the stench of rot to rise through the air. Elven arrogance had been soundly punished, he observed with cool detachment. The devastation didn't affect Dalamar, except for a sense of mild regret that a once-pleasant destination no longer existed.

Finally he crossed the gorge of the White Rage River, and even the dispassionate dark elf was annoyed at the sight of the brown sludge that now passed for water in that formerly pristine canyon. More important, he was nearing his destination. His mere thought directed the phantom steed to descend, and soon Dalamar skimmed along barely above the height of the treetops. The ghostly flying horse followed the course of the river as it spilled from its rocky gorge to meander into the lowlands. The course grew wide, the water even more brackish and stagnant as it pooled in mudflats and eddies. Soon the elf recognized the tributary to the north, Solace Stream, and was moderately relieved to turn his magical steed up toward that unpolluted waterway.

Darken Wood lay to his left, but Dalamar ignored the attraction of those magical groves and mystical denizens. There was nothing for him there, neither any spell book nor colleague that could help him gain entry to the forest, or recover the mastery of his own spells. The dark wizard was acutely conscious of this weakness as he approached Solace, spotting the lofty crests of the great vallenwoods from many miles away.

Normally, Dalamar would have entered the town discreetly, seeking out Palin at some quiet and private place. However, the dark elf felt he was on an acutely urgent mission; each enchantment he cast that vanished from his memory was irretrievable forever, unless he gained access to the proper spell books. In light of that vulnerability, he opted for a more dramatic display of his power as a reminder to Palin, and anyone else who might be paying attention, that the black-robed wizard was still a force to be reckoned with.

He guided his phantom steed along Solace's main street, flying several dozen feet above the ground-well below the level of the tree-mounted houses, shops, and inns that were such a characteristic of the city of vallenwoods. It was still several hours until dinnertime, and that avenue, a curving route that meandered between the roots of the mighty trees, was fairly crowded by the standards of bucolic Solace. As soon as he dropped below the canopy of leaves, a watchman pointed up at him and shouted in alarm.

Dalamar smiled to hear gasps of fright from merchants and peddlers, shouts of surprise from shopping womenfolk, and cries of glee from a multitude of children. The children ran in a pack along the street, pointing up at him and shrieking in delight as the wizard slowed his eerie, vaporous steed. He flew across the town square then turned up the lane that would lead to Palin, leaving the band of youngsters behind with a sudden burst of speed.

He drew up to the great balcony surrounding the Inn of the Last Home, the structure located on the sturdy boughs of one of the greatest vallenwoods. Here the phantom steed came to rest, the misty apparition fading away gently to bring Dalamar's feet to rest upon the broad, sturdy planks.

"Hello, Dalamar."

It was a woman's voice, which carried not the slightest hint of welcome. Nevertheless, the dark elf smiled thinly as he turned around to see the speaker: a female with long straight hair, now white but still suggestive of vital, golden youth. He tilted forward, a formal bow that was only slightly mocking.

"Hello, Laura. I see that you are as beautiful, and gracious, as ever."

"What do you want? There is nothing for you here. Palin is through with magic-you, more than anyone, should know that!"

Dalamar sighed, having neither the energy nor the inclination for a confrontation with Palin's strong-willed sister.

"I need to talk to your brother. Can you tell me where he is? Or does such a conversation require advance approval from you?" he asked sharply.

She sniffed contemptuously and turned back to the side door of the inn from which she had emerged. "Wait here," she ordered, before she disappeared.

Dalamar scowled after her then turned his back. He rested his hands on the railing and breathed deeply, trying to get his bearings and relax. He could not allow himself to be agitated when he talked to Palin.

"Hello, my old… comrade. It is rather a surprise to see you," Palin said mildly, coming out and closing the door behind him.

"Not a pleasant one, if your sister's reaction is any guide."

Palin shrugged, offering a regretful smile. "Laura has never been shy about her opinions. I suspect she thinks you are a rather bad influence on me. But nevertheless, I did not expect to see you again… so soon."

Dalamar studied the former master of the White Robes. Palin looked healthier than he had in years: he was fit, broad-shouldered and held himself proudly erect. His hair, faded to a pale gray and thinned somewhat on top, was fastened in the back to a tail that hung down to the level of his shoulder blades. He advanced to clasp hands with the dark elf, their eyes meeting in appraisal. What do I see there, Dalamar wondered-and what does he see?

A serving maid came out the door with a tray. She set down a loaf of bread, a tub of butter, a pitcher of ale, and two mugs, and she wordlessly withdrew.

"Thank you," said Dalamar, his stomach rumbling audibly as the aroma of the loaf-obviously fresh from the oven-reached his nostrils.

"Actually, this repast comes from Laura," the man said with a chuckle. "Even at her sternest, she is an innkeeper at heart; she would not let a visitor stay thirsty or hungry." Palin settled into a chair, and Dalamar noticed the ease with which he leaned back, fully secure. This was a man who was utterly at peace with himself, the elf realized with some dismay.

The dark elf took an adjacent chair and allowed his host to fill the mugs in companionable silence. The sun was setting, sending dazzling beams through the giant, leafy vallenwoods, illuminating the forest city in a surreal glow. The cold drink went down easily, and the elf realized that he had grown quite parched during his magical flight. His mug was emptied in a surprisingly quick time, but he leaned forward, holding on to it with both hands. If he put it down, Palin would offer a refill, and Dalamar wanted to keep his wits about him.

He found it strangely difficult to begin. His host cut several slices of the bread, slathered them with butter, and handed one to the dark elf. It was excellent, of course: crusty and aromatic, firm and pleasantly chewy. After eating a couple of pieces, Dalamar did allow himself another mug of the ale. He sipped at the foamy head, then leaned back to look at the man who had been, in the dark elf's opinion, the second-greatest wizard upon Krynn.

"I went seeking the Tower of High Sorcery," Dalamar began.

Palin raised his eyebrows, not so much in surprise as curiosity. "It sounds as though you didn't find it," he suggested.

"I couldn't even locate Wayreth Forest," the elf said, unable to hold back the bitterness in his voice. "I searched the western border of Qualinesti, rode south from there… but nothing. I have been traveling for all the months since my… awakening."

The word hung like a noose between them. Palin, too, had suffered from Mina's curse, had been granted that awakening by his god. But it was not a thing they would ever discuss.

"The Tower is closed to you? Strange." Palin looked outside, where the white half-circle of Solinari was just visible through the upper terrace of a nearby vallenwood. The moon was setting.

Dalamar glanced toward the sky himself. He could see Nuitari, nearly full and still higher in his line of sight than the loftiest tree top. The black moon was a shiny orb to him, slick and glossy like a spot of oil.

"Is it up there? The black moon?" Palin asked.

"You can't sense it?" Dalamar responded, surprised. "I know that it is only the mages of the Black Robes who can see it, but you always knew where it was in the sky."

The human chuckled. "I guess I've stopped paying attention," he said. "Ironic, in a way-I spent forty years and more pining for those moons of magic. Now they have returned, and I hardly notice."

"Is it really true? You continue to foreswear your art, your gift?" The dark elf made the questions into a challenge.

Palin didn't rise to the bait. "As to 'gifts'… well, you enjoy that bounty. And perhaps I have simply chosen a new art. This town-it needs a lot of help. Can you believe they've made me mayor?" The man laughed quietly in wry amusement,

not without a hint of pride. "There are dangers in the wilds now-thieves, bandits and… darker things. Chaos looms on all sides. In any event, I have all that I can handle, right here, doing this job. And it is a calling that leaves me with a great peace in my soul at the end of every day."

Dalamar was silent, thinking, carefully masking his face to conceal his disappointment. His scheme seemed less than pointless, now. He saw clearly that all the compelling arguments and carefully reasoned points that he had formed in advance of this meeting were utterly toothless in the face of this man's bucolic contentment. The dark elf didn't even have the energy to plead his case-he had no wish to face the humiliation of Palin's polite refusal.

But his old colleague deserved, at least, an explanation.

"I came here to ask for your help, Palin. I thought that two robes might succeed where one was blocked, that the Tower might welcome us both, together. I will not ask that of you, though; I see now that you have come to the place where you belong." Dalamar grimaced. "Of course, if I thought there was even a chance I could change your mind, I wouldn't hesitate to use every kind of persuasion I could muster."

"You have some very persuasive techniques, I seem to recall," said Palin dryly.

"But nothing, I know, that could bend you, not here, not now. Palin, when you told me you were coming here, abandoning your robes, your spells… I felt only pity and contempt for you. I thought you were a fool, a weakling."

Palin eyed the elf, his face revealing no emotion. Dalamar continued.

"Now that I have seen you here, I confess it is not contempt that I feel. One might call it envy, even a trace of jealousy. I know I will never have what you possess, day in and day out, in this little village in the woods."

"Oh, there are times when I remember the power, with a twinge of longing," Palin admitted.

"And that power has returned, in full!" Dalamar spoke with sudden passion. "Palin, surely you can remember what it's like-to call upon the moon, to feel the pulse of sorcery in your heart, deep in your belly, your very soul! I tell you, this is a time of new magic, a historical cusp in the world!" The dark elf was clenching his mug, pleading after all.

"I can remember," the former white mage said calmly. "And that is enough for me. But I am glad that you came here-it is good to see you, my old… friend?" Palin couldn't help but turn the word into a question.

Dalamar laughed softly; he neither wanted, nor possessed, any "friends." Yet he realized that Palin was sincere, and that made the statement strangely touching.

"Thank you, but I should not have come. No doubt Laura is terribly worried about you. She has probably sent a messenger off to Usha already, urging your wife to come and rescue you from my clutches. So I will leave, and you can go comfort her." The dark elf tried to keep his tone light, though he knew his words were mocking. He felt the bitterness of his own defeat.

"What is the hurry? Where are you going?"

Dalamar shook his head without replying. There was only one place he could go, now, one person he must see, and he was not looking forward to either the journey, or the meeting.

"That was quite a steed that carried you to Solace," Palin continued genially, as if accepting Dalamar's silence as his answer. "The inn practically tilted out of the tree when everyone ran over to the south windows to see you arrive. If you would like to spend the night, and take time to study your spell book before you leave, you are welcome to stay. Laura will certainly give you a quiet room, with a good lantern for reading."

The dark elf set down his mug and stood up with a sigh. "Do you see me carrying a spell book? No, Palin, I have nothing to study. My spells are gone, and I don't even have an apprentice's scrolls to relearn them. Ironic, isn't it? I awakened with every one of my spells fresh and vibrant in my mind. I have used them-I teleported to Qualinesti. I used illusion and fireball against those who stood in my path. But each spell, when I use it… it is gone, as always. Only this time I have no book, no means to study, to relearn the spells. So the spells are leaving me, one by one, and it is like I am fast spending all the accumulated knowledge-the treasures-of my life.

"As for the next stage of my journey, it will be made on foot, or horseback… at least until I can board a ship for Palanthas. Then I will ride through the storms, puking my guts out, white knuckles on the railing like any tin merchant or coal shipper. There are still penalties I pay, daily."

"There is, perhaps, something I can do to help," Palin said. He leaned forward, conspiratorially. "You have to promise not to tell Laura-or Usha."

"You have my word," Dalamar said, irritated at the childish guise, even as he was fully intrigued.

The innkeeper rose and opened the side door. He called into the kitchen. "I'm taking Dalamar to the stables, Lar. I'll be back in an hour."

The elf heard several platters slam onto a tray, and an unpleasant snap of sound that he took to be Laura's dismissal. Palin turned back with an apologetic smile and led the dark wizard down the winding stairway toward the street. Dalamar felt good to stretch his legs. He supposed Palin was going to offer him a horse, and in light of the dark elf's current circumstances, that was something for which to be grateful.

The inn's stable was located against the bole of the great vallenwood, and Palin led him through the barn, where a stable boy was forking straw into various stalls. The former White Robe went into a small office at the very back of the rambling structure, a tiny room that was actually a small cubby chiseled right into the trunk of the great tree.

Palin carefully and quietly closed the door after Dalamar followed him through, and only then did he strike a match to a thin candle. Dalamar watched expressionlessly as the man touched a panel in what looked like the solid wall at the back of the room. The dark elf was moderately surprised when that section of wood slid backward to reveal a small alcove.

When Palin reached into that hole, Dalamar felt an unmistakable tingle at the back of his neck. Despite Palin's vow to the contrary, there was some hidden magic here! Carefully, the former white-robed mage pulled out a heavy object-a large, square object wrapped in what looked to be a soft doeskin. The dark elf's heart pounded with anticipation.

"I guess you could say that I have hedged my bet," Palin said. "I saved my very first spell book. It has many useful spells, and it could have taken me anywhere I needed to go, if I ever felt that I had to return to the life of sorcery."

Without hesitation, Palin held out the heavy book to Dalamar, who took it rather more quickly and fervently than he had intended. Palin smiled, with a hint of sadness.

"No, I want you to have it. And I am glad that you came here. I am sure you did not intend to do so, but your visit has confirmed for me that I've made the right choice-for Usha, for our children, but even, and without question, for me. I am through with that life, Dalamar, and you should make good use of this last vestige of my magic."

"I understand," said Dalamar; meaning that he understood that Palin was freely giving him this book of spells. In point of fact, he could not begin to grasp how Palin, a man capable of wielding almost unimaginable power, could turn his back on that power. But that was not a riddle the dark elf needed to solve. His hands trembled as he took the tome, clutched it to his chest.

Palin smiled now in genuine good humor. "Perhaps you would take that room, now? Just for the night? It seems that, after all, you might have something to study."

Dalamar nodded his thanks. He could hardly wait to sit down, light a lamp, and start to read.