The weathermaster of the Arimensian Council of Warlocks stood hands-clasped in Baron Darronin Temini’s private sitting room, facing the large door of the room in anticipation of his host’s arrival. The amber flame-light of the hearth permeated the room and bounced off of the bald arch mage’s dark skin. The only sound besides the small cracking of fire were the intermittent taps of the twilight wind and snow upon the tall arching window to the left of the hearth.

The wooden door drifted open slowly, the sound giving away the age of its hinges, as Darronin entered with a bottle of wine tucked under his arms and two goblets held between his fingers. The baron set the bottle and goblets down on a low stone table between two tall leather chairs that faced the hearth. Yet to acknowledge Corindrian, the noble poured wine into both goblets and sat in the leather chair to face the hearth. Without looking towards the mage, Darronin began the nightly ritual between the two men.

“And how are you going to try to sway me this evening, mage?” The baron had finally ceased hiding his displeasure with the two men’s nightly conversations.

Corindrian grasped the goblet closest to him, and strolled over to the window to look out on the landscape. Neither moon was out, leaving the snow dark blue that faded to gray, and then to the blackness of the treeline.

The archmage of weather had been doubtful of his mission from the start. While Corindrian understood the need for secrecy and subterfuge, Junumanian spies certainly would not have suspected Moringia to send mages to the Temini Barony, he did not truly expect to convince the baron to aid the rest of the kingdom. There was nothing the kingdom could offer, even magicks, that would change Darronin’s mind.

The baron knew of the storm that nearly laid waste to Arimens, of the loss of Zuryne in Harinia. Messengers had brought news to the baron for years that detailed the price of war: illness, pollution, corruption, and destruction. Unless Corindrian could convince the baron that the war would not bring ruin to the people of Temini and that it would benefit his domain, Darronin would refuse to aid in the war. Even if Corindrian could conceive of what might sway the baron, there was still one other problem: a mage could never convince the baron.

Corindrian turned towards the leather chairs, and sat next to the baron.

“I was thinking I could sway you with drink, my lord. However we’ve had so much wine over these months that I am uncertain it would work before I become drunk.” Corindrian took a sip of wine.

“Leaving soon?” the baron asked.

“To the contrary, my lord. Your manor is quite comfortable, and the roads won’t be safe until mid-Spring.” Corindrian took another, larger sip from his goblet.

Once more the sitting room fell back into the silence of crackling fire and tapping snow as the two men sipped wine and gazed into the hearth. After several minutes, the baron broke the silence.

“Humor me mage: why come here?”

Corindrian took another sip of wine, and set his goblet down on the table, giving a careful response.

“To do my duty to the kingdom at the behest of the council and my patron, my lord.”

“No, that’s not the question I asked,” Darronin interjected. “I want to know why you came. What brought one of the most powerful mages in all of Moringia to a place where he would be feared, and possibly killed? Why come here at all, if you knew you were going to fail?”

“I didn’t have a choice in the matter.” Corindrian refilled his goblet.

“Lying never did a man well, Corindrian. You are the arch mage of weather, tamer of the monsoons of Kaylynth. I heard their witch-queen did not take kindly to that feat of yours, nearly had you killed for it. How many years ago was that, forty? You are old, travel must have been difficult on you at sixty-four. You could have objected to whatever order you were given on age and reputation alone, but instead you lie to me. To me, of all people, a minor baron at the edge of the kingdom. Why come here of your free will if you knew you would fail?”

Darronin looked the mage in the eyes for the first time since entering the room.

“I don’t lie, baron. I had no choice in this matter, just as I had no choice four decades ago when Harwyne flooded her own kingdoms. I had no choice in this matter just as I had no choice to cross the Gray Spine into these lands many years ago. Fate tipped my hand. I did not choose my vocation for status, or for power. I chose it to help those others, my lord.”

The baron poured himself another glass of wine.

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“Then you can help my domain by leaving.” the baron spoke, stumbling on his words.

“No. I will not leave until I am certain your people will be safe-”

“-And now you dare to question my ability to lead?! My citizens and I don’t need your help. My lands are unpolluted and untainted from that idiotic and pointlesss war. My citizens are safe because I made the right choice to avoid the conflict.” Darronin erupted in a fury, “I’ve never considered sacrificing my people for pointless conflict before in order to protect them! A truly eloquent point for someone of your senility!”

“Stop this nonsense!” Corindrian shouted back at the baron. “Is this how you speak to your elders, or were the signs of Paronian and Mentillian on your gate just to look pretty?! Is your manor of stone a facade as well?! Perhaps you will change it to wood next year when you stop praying to the saints entirely!”

The baron remained silent, stirring his wire goblet and glaring at the mage.

Corindrian slowly walked towards the window to look upon the twilight snow as he took a deep breath to collect himself.

“My apologies, my lord. I should not have lashed out in that manner. I’ll take my leave.”

Corindrian walked past his host, and was almost to the door when the baron spoke to him.

“I apologize for my outburst, Corindrian.” Darronin paused briefly, and then continued “The priests say that Paronian showed that even virtuous men can come to anger, and that anger oftentimes tells us what is important to ourselves. You could have been angry with me many times during your time here. You could have been angry that I hold your vocation in disdain. You could have been angry that I refused to assist the kingdom, and you could have been angry for my insistence that you leave. Tell me, why did you come to anger over a matter of Virtue?”

Corindrian turned to face the baron, his hand on the door’s handle.

“I had heard you were a good man, Darronin. I thought that even for all of your superstition you would be willing to listen to me. I want to help, but I can’t unless you show me you are the man I was told ran this barony. I need you to trust me when I say that it is your best interest to join the war effort.”

“Don’t leave then. Sit. Here’s your chance to gain my trust. Convince me.” Darronin gestured Corindrian to the empty chair in front of the hearth.

The mage walked back to the leather chair, and sat once more.

“Darronin. What I am about to tell you, I have told no one. Can you promise to Ghalstorin that you will not say a word of what I speak of here?”

The baron raised his hands upwards, invoking the fifth saint.

“I swear to Ghalstorin that I will never speak of what you are about to say.”

“Let me be straightforward with you Darronin: this war is pointless. There’s nothing to be gained by joining. Your barony will suffer plagues and pollution just as the rest of Moringia has. Some of your people will die, and there will be nothing you can do about it.”

The baron had not expected to hear Corindrian say that.

“I could give less of a damn about the king or his wishes,” Corindrian continued, “however, I have reason to believe there is something deeply foul that larks at the edges of this idiotic war. Nature herself is becoming more violent, and the shriekers of the thundered plains have been more active than in past centuries.”

“So I’ve heard.” the baron replied, now listening fully to what the weathermaster had to say.

Corindrian stood up and placed himself in front of the fire, facing Darronin.

“Those things are concerning by themselves, my lord, but they are not what drove me to your domain. It was the storm I repelled in Arimens which drove me to your barony. It was not a natural storm. Nature would not do such a thing, nor would Daristian or any other patron or saint. I sensed it in the air nearly four years ago, and I am certain that it was spellcraft.”

“Necromancy?”

“No, but perhaps something more foul.” Corindrian said.

“If I had not been in Arimens, and if I had not taken my time in crafting the barrier to repel it, the city would have been turned to glass and rubble. I am worried that your barony, without a mage, would meet Arimens’s intended fate. I came to convince you to give patronage to someone, anyone, because I did not want to see men and women die senselessly. I’ve known of Temini’s superstitions for many years, and I know that they are strong and difficult to dispel. Please listen to me. I am begging you.”

Corindrian’s shadow cast long past the baron.

“Do not let your domain crumble because you’ve forsaken Knowledge and Kalitian. If you want to survive, and if you wish for your son to live to raise a family and become virtuous, you must try to and let go of your suspicion. There are those who practice necromancy, yes, but I can promise you that the storm that hit Arimens brought with it a fate worse than death. Utter annihilation. That is what awaits us on the other side of this bloody war. There will be more storms, and there will be things worse than them, no doubt caused by whatever mage was powerful enough to craft such a terrifying spell.”

Darronin’s stoic demeanor shifted to one of visible concern.

“And the only way I would be able to guarantee a mage skilled enough to ensure my domain’s survival would be to-”

“Support the war effort. Yes.” Corindrian responded.

“And this wicked mage you spoke of, their skill is how great compared to yours?” Darronin asked.

“Exceeding myself and each member of the council, undoubtedly. I was ill for a month after repelling the storm.”

Darronin took a long swig of from his goblet, pondering the sobering information.

“Corindrian, I do not take this news lightly. Starting tomorrow, I will sit in on the lessons with you and your students. I cannot fully trust you until I understand what sorts of things mages study. Real mages, that is, not necromancers. Show me that you are teaching your students correctly, not just book learning but lessons of character.”

Corindrian sat down once more, and finished his second goblet of wine.

“So it seems I convinced you after all, my lord.”

“No Corindrian. You’ve only just now been given the chance to.”

The men, silent, drank late into the evening warmed by the emanating amber of the hearth.