“It doesn’t make any sense at all,” Meryl Sabrin told Jynn as she handed him the wand. “The technician said your nornstones are in perfect condition, the projection matrix is untouched, and the whole wand is sound.”
“It just isn’t functioning.” The archmage grimaced as he set the wand down on a table filled with arcane instruments. The Twilight Order’s instructional laboratory made up for what it lacked in students with a plethora of artifacts, relics, and enchanted devices. Several pages of Jynn’s notes were scattered about as well, though it was hard to make anything coherent of them in the scant minutes he had. The readings and research felt like a four-dimensional puzzle, and the nornstone wand should have provided a key piece.
“That’s the strangest part. Mr. Watters said it worked fine in a pocket dimension—even gave a normal reading.” The young omnimancer tapped a notch halfway up the wand. “Yet nothing they tried got it working in the city. That flash you see when you start channeling is the indicator light generating at the nexus, but instead of traveling along the projection matrix it… flashes out.”
“Indeed,” said Jynn. He picked up the wand again and channeled a bit of sorcery to give it a hopeful try. There was an azure flash, and then the wand lost all of its light save for the tiny threads of magic still connecting it to Jynn’s hands. “Still, it seems odd that—”
He was cut off by a sudden thundering that shook the walls of the lab and rattled the beakers and crystals on every desk. “You magic! You magic scare cat! Make cat crazy!” bellowed a familiar, guttural voice.
Jynn sucked his breath in through his teeth. He had neither the time nor the patience for his neighbor’s nonsense. “Mrs. Ur’Kretchen! I can assure you we have… done… no… such…” The archmage’s shout trailed into a confused murmur as a sudden thought occurred to him.
He looked at the wand. Meryl looked at the wand. They looked at each other.
“To the roof!” Jynn cried, scrambling from the table. The pair of omnimancers rushed to the staircase that took them to the small platform used by the building’s resident manager to clean the gutters and feed the gargoyles. A few of the stone-skinned creatures grumbled and scurried away as Jynn aimed the nornstone wand out over the empty street and channeled sorcery into it, squeezing his eyes shut against the expected flash of blue light.
When he opened them, his mouth fell open as well. Meryl gasped.
A blue orb of cobalt light hovered like a mute sprite above the street directly in front of the smoking tip of the wand. It trembled and jittered with a manic energy that could easily frighten or provoke a bored house cat; it took Jynn a moment to realize that the trembling of his own hands was causing the shaking wand. Still channeling, he swiveled the wand to point up, and the glowing sphere rose into the gray winter sky like a tiny sun. He swung the wand back and forth, and his stomach sank as he watched the tiny blue comet streak across the sky above him.
“Keeps a consistent distance,” the archmage muttered. “Somewhere between twenty and thirty wand lengths away. Sustaining the indicator appears to be causing strain on the wand’s pyromantic bindings, resulting in smoke trails.”
“What does it mean?” asked Meryl.
“I’m not sure,” Jynn murmured, his eyes locked on the glowing sphere. “But I’m certain whatever it is, it’s huge.”
“It’s a Circle of Nations,” said the olive-skinned pyromancer. “It’s mages from across Arth gathering to discuss matters of national import. These are the pyromancers who speak directly to kings and queens and the empress, the highest members of our circles.”
“It’s perfect,” said Laruna, looking beyond the guard to the gilded doors he blocked. “Let us pass.”
“I’m afraid you can’t go in there.” The pyromancer was a short man with a thick mustache. His crimson robes bristled with gemstones and onyx and other indicators of well-earned rank.
Laruna held up a hand to stay Gaist. “You should be afraid, because I am going in there, and you can’t stop us.”
The guard’s eyes narrowed, and amber flames engulfed his hands. “You must be new to the Order of Pyromancers if you don’t recognize… uh… my—” His threats spluttered and died along with the flames around his hands.
“New and upcoming within the order, yes.” Laruna smiled as the guard’s flames wove around her fingers and dissipated into nothing. Already new rubies and black pearls were growing from her robes as some of the decorations receded within the fabric of the stunned guard’s. It hadn’t been a formal mage’s dual, but both of their garments seemed to recognize that one wouldn’t be necessary. “Now, step aside.”
The guard responded with a noise caught between a squeak and a sob.
Gaist reached out and took hold of the stunned guard’s shoulder. Sweeping his arm as one might do to push open a gate, the weaponsmaster moved the pyromancer off to the side. He gestured for Laruna to proceed with a bow.
“Thank you,” said Laruna, and she pulled the ornate doors of the chamber open.
The room within was plush and warm, done in motifs of brass and crimson. Heavy braziers glowed with the amber light of simmering coals, and heavy velvet pillows cascaded off every bench and sofa. Half a dozen pyromancers sat around a central table, enjoying tea and spiced meats. Their robes were done in different styles, from the high angular shoulders of Ruskan tailors to the loose, sweeping garments of the Empire, to the wrapped silks and linens of the far continents, but all of them bore the ornate decorations of the most senior archmages. Their eyes swiveled to the door as Laruna walked through it.
“Laruna Trullon.” The Ember of Heaven appraised Laruna’s red and onyx robes. “I see that you have mastered yourself and become one with the fire.”
Laruna stepped forward. “I have.”
“And given what you’ve done to poor Gerrun out there, it seems your power has grown considerably.”
“It has.”
The Ember of Heaven smirked. “And given that you have interrupted this most high circle of your new order, I assume you have something important to tell us.”
Laruna grinned. “Archmage, believe me when I say that you don’t know the half of it.”
“This is the biggest deal the Wall has ever seen. Perhaps the largest trade in ages. Be about your tasks!” called Duine Poldo. The Scribkin stood at the center of the conference room, a furious if diminutive conductor guiding the paperwork to a dramatic crescendo. Warg employees, lawyer-monks, Wood Gnomes, and Dwarven guild clerks swirled around him like dancers.
Feista Hrurk couldn’t help but wag her tail as she watched the Scribkin at the height of his craft from her desk near the back of the room. She could hear the hitch in his breath, smell the perspiration on his brow, and yet the Gnome pressed on, totally in command of one of the most elite business teams in Andarun.
“Has the quest for the dungeon of Wynspar been voided?” Poldo called.
“The arbitration is executed and on its way to the guildhall,” Vordar of the Heroes’ Guild answered. “Workin’ on the guild injunction now.”
Poldo nodded as a crew of Wood Gnomes carried him a bundle of papers. The Domovoy swarmed around the Scribkin like bees around a hive. They stamped out letters and memorandums with tiny, lead blocks, sorted them into neat piles, and surfaced the odd document when it warranted the maestro’s attention. Poldo accepted one such document offered by a small crew of Gnomes and adjusted his thick spectacles. “How is the NPC application coming along?”
“We do not know the spelling of the beast’s name,” cried Borpo Skar’Ezzod. “This complicates matters!”
“Refer to it as the Dragon of Wynspar,” Poldo directed, “and attach an addendum to your motion for emergency consideration stating you’ll file a correction after sentience is established and provisional papers are granted.”
“I shall draft it!” Borpo raised his quill in a meaty fist.
