Renegade Wizards

CHAPTER 17

The circle beneath their feet glowed a moment before sputtering out like a spent candle; a faint discoloration remained in the red carpet. They lay inside a parlor with richly paneled oak walls, luxuriant tapestries, and a fireplace. Tythonnia pulled free of Mariyah and Ladonna as she stood, her hand scrambling through the empty air, trying to save a man who was no longer there.

“No!” she screamed and spun around, trying to gain her bearings. “Where are we? Where are we?”

Through the transom window, Ladonna could see the hub of Palanthas and the Bay of Branchala. They were somewhere in Purple Ridge, overlooking the city. Likely, it was the safest place Berthal could envision before casting his spell.

“Palanthas,” Ladonna answered softly.

“We have to go back!”

Mariyah wept softly. She understood the situation; she knew there was nothing they could do. She crumpled into one of the chairs.

“We can’t,” Ladonna said. “It’s already too late. The portal-”

“No,” Tythonnia said, pacing around the room, ready to hurl herself at the walls at any moment. “No no no, you’re wrong.”

“I’m not,” Ladonna said gently. “It was a trap.”

“By who?” Tythonnia demanded. “What was that book?”

“It was put there by the Black Robes,” she said. “I didn’t know about it, but Arianna boasted about using it against Berthal. I tried to stop you, but-”

“A trap,” Tythonnia said. “They couldn’t have known! How did they know?”

“They knew what to do the moment the key was stolen … the one Mariyah took.”

Mariyah looked up, her face absolutely horror-stricken.

“Did you really think we’d leave a book of spells by Gadrella of Tarsis, of all people, where it was? Especially when we had the key this entire time. The real book hasn’t been there in decades.”

Tythonnia stopped pacing as the revelation settled in. She stumbled and fell into a velvet-covered settee.

“Once Mariyah stole the key, the Black Robes placed the book of Orphaned Echoes there. It opened into a demiplane but not the one you wanted. They saw it as a way to end the renegade threat once and for all. That’s why the crypt lay unprotected. They were waiting for another spy to steal it for Berthal.”

“No,” Tythonnia whispered. “The Black Robes wouldn’t move against the highmage like this. The other orders-”

“The Red Robes were complicit in this, Tythonnia. We found a strong ally in Belize.”

“But-”

“I’m sorry,” Ladonna said. “The Black and Red Robes realized they couldn’t afford to capture Berthal. They couldn’t make a martyr of him. Neither could they murder him outright without accomplishing the same thing. He had to die of his own arrogance, his own undoing.”

With that, Ladonna walked toward the doorway, but she hesitated at the archway leading onto the entrance porch. “I’ll tell the orders you both died fighting alongside Berthal. I saved you, and you too Mariyah; that’s as far as I go, Tythonnia. If you want to live out your remaining years in peace, I suggest you hide and never practice magic again. Tythonnia and Mariyah are dead. Find new lives.”

“And if we don’t?” Tythonnia asked, almost whispering through the pangs of sorrow.

“Then I’ll find you and kill you both myself. Don’t make me regret this.”

“I’ll never forgive you,” Tythonnia said bitterly.

“Perhaps,” Ladonna responded. “But I couldn’t let a friend die … no matter how much she wanted to.”

Ladonna chanced a last glance back at the two women holding each other fiercely. She walked through the door and out into the sunlight of Palanthas. She had to find a way back home, if she still had a home.

Par-Salian stumbled as he reappeared in his bed chamber. He was exhausted, spent of all the magic he knew. A wizard without his spells was a truly terrible thing, for his mind felt empty from the loss of knowledge and his spirit seemingly tapped beyond reach of recovery. Yet, he knew, rest would not be his reward.

He only prayed that Ladonna had escaped safely.

“Did you save anyone?” a voice asked.

Par-Salian spun around in surprise. There was nobody there a moment before, but Highmage Astathan was seated there, next to his bed.

With almost knee-jerk panic, Par-Salian wanted to explain what he’d done and why he’d done it, but Astathan motioned for him to be still.

“Did you … save anyone?”

Par-Salian realized Astathan knew everything already, or at least most of it. He saw no admonishment in the highmage’s eyes, only concern and a terrible sadness that seemed to reach down into his very soul. It was no time to protect himself. Astathan was speaking to him as an equal.

“A boy,” Par-Salian admitted. “One boy. He’s with my aunt right now. She’s a kind woman.”

Astathan nodded but said nothing. His head fell deeply until it almost touched his chest. His age truly showed in those terrible moments.

“It-it was horrible. We must do something,” Par-Salian whispered. “The Black Robes went against your wishes and now innocent people are dead. Not just Berthal or his sorcerers, but women and children. None of them deserved this,” he said. He couldn’t stop himself from weeping at the memory, at the screams.

“If there is justice for this action,” Astathan said. “It will not be in my time.”

“What?” Par-Salian said. He wiped away his tears.

“All mention of this is to be erased. You and Ladonna are forgiven your transgressions, but nobody must ever know what happened in the Vingaard Mountains.”

“How can you say that?” Par-Salian said. “The Black Robes orchestrated a massacre!”

“Yes,” Astathan said. He struggled to rise, and Par-Salian helped him to his feet. “And for that we are all damned for our complicity. I only learned of all this from Reginald, but heed me well, Par-Salian. There are dark times ahead. Far darker than this, I suspect, for the orders, for everyone. Already the Black Robes are pulling away, and I fear we cannot stop them.”

“What are you talking about?” Par-Salian asked.

“I do not envy you, my boy,” Astathan said. “You will see more precarious times than I could imagine. When I am gone, the Black Robes will drift away, and it will be your responsibility to ensure their absence doesn’t shatter the orders completely. It may even be your responsibility to bring them back again. As much as I want to see justice done, this incident with Berthal will only drive an irreparable schism between us if we demand satisfaction. And what the future holds is too important to lose the support of the Black Robes. They are crucial to our survival, and we to theirs.”

“So … we just forget this ever happened?!” Par-Salian asked.

“See what the future holds,” Astathan said, “and then decide. You may realize the future is more important than history. Or perhaps the future must reconcile with the past to be stronger. But wait and watch. You owe the world that patience, at least.”

Par-Salian nodded, though he wasn’t happy with the notion. “If that is your wish,” he said, his mind dark with bleak thoughts.

“Of course it isn’t,” Astathan said. “My wish was to save Berthal and welcome him back into the order. He was a good man. Misguided and still wounded by the death of his protégé, but good nonetheless. He didn’t deserve this.”

“Highmage,” Par-Salian said. “What of Ladonna? Is she safe? Do you know?”

“She is safe,” Astathan said. “I couldn’t scry Berthal’s movements, but I could follow yours. Likely, she is your best hope of keeping the Black Robes from isolating themselves completely. You have a connection with her, no?”

Par-Salian shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with sharing his personal life with Astathan “Did anyone else survive?” he asked.

“No … and it’s easier for history to forget about them if it believes them dead. Leave the dead where they are. The future is consigned to the living.”