Alazax hobbled his way to the head of the table as the rest of the mages filed into the room. Clearing his throat, he waited for them to take their seats down either side of the long table.
It was fitting that an event such as this should come at the end of his tenure. He’d led the mages through thick and thin, through the rebuilding after the War of the Seven Citadels, and through the minor crises of public opinion. Through it all, he’d been on the lookout for any sign of the missing artifacts. And now, he had to act.
“Friends!” He began, waiting for the room to quiet. “We stand at the edge of a great precipice.”
“Can we eat first?” One of the younger mages interrupted, giving Alazax a look that indicated he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
Alazax rolled his eyes, but with a wave of his hands, the table was filled with bottles of wine and roasted duck, and the mages let out a little cheer.
Alazax raised his voice to be heard over the clatter of silverware on dishes, and pressed on with his announcement with grim determination.
“As you know, we have recently obtained a chest containing four of the lost artifacts from the ancient guardians. While this is a great victory, it is not the end of our search. These artifacts are too dangerous to be in the hands of people. Indeed, they are too dangerous to be in the hands of rulers! And if the rumors are true, we have but limited time to secure the remaining artifacts before the magic that we have kept contained for so long bursts forth into the world.”
There was a murmur of agreement, but the gathered mages continued to eat.
“The chest is but a weak defense of these artifacts. I am calling upon all of you to assist me in building a great vault, the likes of which shall never be defeated. Then, we must go in search of the remaining artifacts. Every day that they are out there, they pose a great risk. To the people, and to all of us. When mere mortals play with the power of the gods, they begin to think they, themselves, are gods. That was how the last war started, and nearly destroyed Andrysfal as we know it!”
Although his speech was rousing enough, the younger mages had heard it all before. Alazax had spoken of nothing but the artifacts for weeks, and before that, it was always one of his most passionate conversation topics. Still, until they received word that a mage tower had been destroyed in Torg Uyen, and that there were mysterious weapons buried in the ruins, most of the younger mages had believed that the artifacts were long lost, supposing they had either been destroyed in the war, or they were buried so deep beneath the rubble they would never be seen again. It was easy enough to believe all this when the magic had been quietly contained for so many years.
Now, they were faced with a grim reality. Only half of the artifacts had been accounted for in the chest, but there had been reports of the others.
“The people of Andrysfal cannot be trusted,” he trailed off, seeing that his audience was no longer listening.
With a grumble, Alazax lowered himself gingerly into his chair, staring with disinterest at the plate in front of him.
“It’ll be alright, old friend,” an elderly mage said.
His name was Idore and he was nearly as ancient as Alazax himself. Of course, he was more of a quiet type and had turned down the opportunity to lead the mages of Andrysfal early on, preferring to keep to himself and continue his studies in peace. Sometimes Alazax wished he had made the same choice.
“They weren’t there. You can’t blame them for not understanding,” Idore continued, taking a sip of wine and accidentally dribbling some down his front.
With a sniff, Idore snapped his fingers and the stains disappeared.
“They’ve read the history books. They’ve seen the images. What more can I do to get them to understand?” Alazax asked.
Idore shrugged and gave him a kind smile. “I’m sure all the historians across all the ages have asked the same question. But there is no experience like lived experience. All the texts and sketches in the world are not enough to do the trick. You and I? We feel the danger in our bones. It was written into our blood when we lived through that terrible time. But them? They’ve never felt that. And it’s thanks to you, you know?”
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Alazax sighed. He knew Idore was paying him a compliment, but it didn’t lift his mood any. He needed the young mages to understand what they were up against. But Idore was right. He had given them a false sense of security, and now they were unable to see the true danger in the world around them. He knew what he had to do, and he didn’t like it one bit.
With a wave, he called one of the acolytes over and whispered in the young boy’s ear. The boy listened intently and then nodded and hurried away.
Alazar watched as the others finished their meals and then cleared his throat loudly when two acolytes appeared, carrying the chest between them. They brought it to the head of the table, quickly clearing the plates, and set it down with a heavy thud.
The room fell silent, all eyes on the chest. Alazax rose and met their eyes, one by one.
“We are the last living mages in all the land,” he said, his voice low and dangerous this time. “We alone are capable of containing the power within these artifacts. We alone can keep the firmament in place, as has been our task these last few centuries. I, and all the mages who came before me, have gone to great lengths to keep us safe here in Yaal. I have killed men to keep our secrets safe within these walls, and would not hesitate to do so again. But know this… these weapons are not ours to claim. Our ancestors created them, poured their lifeblood into them, and gifted them to the guardians. If we do not secure them, the magic is certain to breech the firmament, and we shall fall alongside every great ruler. Wild magic is a dangerous thing, and we have but one chance to save ourselves.”
He threw open the lid of the chest and plunged his hand inside, pulling out a small scepter with a glowing blue orb atop it. When he held it out before him, it stretched itself into a long golden staff, and then a trident.
“Do you think you are powerful enough to wield this?” he asked. “Which of you believes that he can claim this artifact and play at guardian?”
The mages remained silent, their eyes watching as the head of an enormous horse shimmered into existence. It emerged from the glowing tips of the trident, growing in size and intensity, its front two legs kicking wildly in the air before it dragged itself forward and they realized that its back half was that of an aquatic beast. The kelpie let out a noise that sent a shiver through the room.
Alazax had their attention now. He could see how hungry they were for this power, and he knew he was walking a very dangerous line. None of the mages dared stand up and make such a boisterous claim in this room, but that didn’t change what was evident in their hearts. After all, he’d trusted Vasileios to retrieve the artifacts, but it seemed even he had been corrupted by them.
With a word, the kelpie vanished and the trident shrank in Alazax’s hand. He lay it back down inside the chest and closed the lid.
“The people are suspicious of us, and the king wishes us to do his bidding. But I say, we are to be heroes this day! We will make a pact and build a vault. And when we have reclaimed the last remaining artifacts, we will have done our duty well.”
This, at least, got a cheer from the crowd. Alazax gave Idore a weary smile as he sat down, the large trunk between them.
“They’ll learn in time,” Idore said softly. “But for now, you have their loyalty.”
When the meal was cleared, the younger mages set about the business of determining exactly how to build an impenetrable vault, and they selected a location within the tower to conceal it. They tested various methods of containment, placing the artifacts behind magical walls and beneath magical bubbles until they arrived at a combination of spells too powerful for any one mage to defeat on their own.
When the task was done, the chest was placed inside the secret vault, and they all took an oath as the door was locked for the first time.
“Now, about the missing artifacts,” Alazax said, his eyes drooping and his shoulders slumping at the end of such a long day. “There have been whisperings. We believe the sword is close by. Rumors in Yaal suggest that a sword made of lightning nearly burned down a village a few days’ ride from here. At least two of you will have to travel to the village to investigate. We will also send a search party to Gullyhaven and the base of the mountain to search for any sign of Vasileios. The driver spoke of a magnificent fountain, but when our first search party arrived, they found no such fountain anywhere. However, the town has been abandoned. We must continue searching the area.”
“Do you think the fountain is really…”
“Ashamsikunu?” Alazax offered, rubbing his temples. “I pray that it is not, but we must be prepared for the worst.”
“And what about the divining rods?” one of the young mages asked.
Alazax sighed. “I do not know. There have been no sightings, and they are the least obvious of the artifacts. It is possible they were not with the others to begin with. Or that the soldiers who cleaned up the rubble in Torg Uyen simply overlooked them. It is hard to say.”
Alazax was still pondering this problem when he left the gathering room and headed to bed. It was easy to suppose that Vasileios had stolen several of the artifacts before his disappearance. But even if he intended to sell them or keep them for himself, the divining rods were an odd choice.