Kashur

Kashur raised his chalice and offered a polite smile to yet another Dwarf materializing out of the shimmering blue light into the Council Chambers. These were the Silverkeep Dwarves, if he wasn’t mistaken, coming in through the eastern portal. He recognized two out of the four—the dark-bearded one and the sharp-eyed female—but not the nervous one with the carrot-colored curls stuffed under an odd-looking headlamp nor his thin, hooded companion.

Kashur brought the chalice to his lips and glanced at the southern portal again. There was no sign of the Elf Queen or her contingent. Had she not gotten his message? The tenth hour would ring at any moment.

He scanned the great glass-domed room in case he had missed her arrival, although there was little chance of that. There had to be at least thirty Dwarves here now, representing the five mountain Conclaves. The Imperial contingent had arrived as well, including the ancient Emperor, hidden from view in his silk-draped metal litter and accompanied by his security detail of dragoons. Kashur recognized the soldier bending down in his gold-plated armor to mutter to the Emperor through the litter’s latticed speaking slot. Since when had Kenji Zamora been promoted to Sentinel? And when had he put on all that muscle? They must feed those dragoons a dozen eggs for breakfast. The Sky Engineer faction of Wizards were present also, draped in their light blue robes, moving about the room like phantoms. But no Elves.

Surely Yelora wouldn’t abandon the Council? Had something happened to her?

Kashur dropped his empty chalice onto the tray of a passing Disciple and strode over to the Alchemist, who was deep in conversation with a Dwarf. “A moment, Sir?” They swept close to a recessed wall housing a splashing decorative waterfall. The sound of the water would help mask their conversation. “Will we hold the Council without her?” Kashur asked.

Mol Morin was already frowning, but he managed to frown even more. “The Elementals haven’t arrived, either.”

“Perhaps we should postpone.”

“No, this is too important.” The Alchemist paused. “Their absences suggest this is even more important than I feared. This magic must be placed under the stewardship of the Wizards. I had hoped the Elves would support us in this, but seeing as they’ve run off, we’ll have to deal with them later.”

“What do you mean ‘deal’ with them?” Kashur glanced again at the southern portal. The Peoples of Terris made decisions as a group. It was the foundation of their peace.

“It doesn’t matter. Our goal today is to get all to agree that we, the Wizards, will take ownership of this magic. We must preserve the balance of power if we hope to prevent another Rift War.”

“Another Rift War?” Kashur’s pulse spiked. “Do you really think the situation is that grave?”

Mol Morin and a Sky Engineer exchanged a quick, sharp look, but not quick enough that Kashur didn’t notice it.

“Wait,” he hissed. “The Sky Engineers know something, don’t they? What do they know? What do you know?”

“Do not fret, Summoner.” The great bell in the belltower struck ten, and Mol Morin gave Kashur a weighted look as he headed for the table. “Just do what we discussed.”

Kashur took a breath to settle his blood. He would just have to trust Mol Morin. The Alchemist had been leading the Wizards for centuries. The old man knew what he was doing.

He followed Mol Morin to his own seat, and the Dwarves as well as the elder Wizards and Sky Engineers followed suit, their chairs scraping on the stone floor. The Emperor’s litter was placed close to the great stone table with Kenji Zamora seated beside him. Zamora's black hair was trimmed closer than Kashur remembered, but his chiseled, pock-marked cheeks and narrow golden eyes were the same.

“Thank you for coming.” The Alchemist’s voice boomed throughout the round, spacious room. At this cue, the Disciples closed down the blue portals, all but the south one, which continued to sizzle conspicuously. “Unfortunately, it seems the Elf contingent is late.”

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The Dwarves grumbled amongst themselves. Kashur caught the words, just like an Elf as well as more than one Dwarven expletive.

Kenji crossed his massive, armored forearms on the tabletop. “His Majesty is unwilling to wait. Let’s get this Council started.”

Such a pleasant, patient bunch. Kashur wanted to point out that the Elementals weren’t present either, although that was never a surprise. Terris did as Terris chose, when she chose it.

The Alchemist filled his lungs. “Most of you will have seen the great meteorite that fell from the sky two days ago. This is a celestial event our brothers and sisters, the Sky Engineers, did not predict.”

“The meteorite was hidden by the upcoming convergence,” a Sky Engineer offered—the same one Mol Morin had exchanged glances with earlier. She had removed her hood, revealing a bald head, sharp ears, ice-blue eyes and rune symbols tattooed across her face. She was an Elf—or, more accurately, had once been an Elf, before joining the Sky Engineer faction of Wizards, just as Kashur had once been an Imperial before joining the Arcane Sect. Now neither belonged to their races; they belonged to their religion. “We believe it was meant to be kept hidden from us.”

“Hidden?” The Alchemist’s eyebrow rose, and Kashur recognized it for what it was—the old magicker’s poor acting. “Why am I only hearing of this now?”

“It has taken us time to decipher. Much is being... hidden. But we believe this meteorite poses a threat to us and to Terris.”

Kashur recognized a rehearsed conversation when he heard one. The secretiveness surrounding this new magic made him uneasy. The Alchemist knew more than he was letting on, and he hadn’t shared it with Kashur. Why?

“The Emperor asks how a meteorite can mean us harm? It falls from the heavens and lies in the dirt.” Kenji Zamora was sneering from across the table. Kashur noted that he hadn’t consulted with the Emperor before speaking these words, but Zamora had always been as puffed up as a twice-stuffed goose, even in the schoolyard.

“It’s not just any space rock,” Mol Morin retorted. “It carries a great magic with it.”

“You speak of the purple crystals? We’re aware of them,” a burly Dwarf said.

“Purple crystals? The Emperor has no knowledge of such,” Zamora cut in.

Mol Morin forced a smile. “Of course his Majesty might not have experienced the power of the crystals, his age and infirmity necessitating his strict protection.” He produced a purple shard from the folds of his midnight cloak. In a slow, dramatic motion, he held it over the table, pinched between the tips of his long fingers. Raising his voice, he continued, “These crystals fell from the meteorite, many of them disappearing into the crust of Terris Herself. They appear to be especially dangerous to Imperials. The crystals’ power makes them ill.”

Kenji Zamora exchanged a hushed conversation through the Emperor’s slot, then stood, his chair scraping violently on the stone floor. “His Majesty finds it surprising that the Wizards would make such a blatantly biased statement.”

“It is not bias, it is observation,” the Alchemist soothed. “Imperials are less hardy when it comes to magic than the other races.”

“Were you not an Imperial before you joined the Wizard Order?” Zamora barked, again without consulting the Emperor. “You seem fine. Besides, it doesn’t look that dangerous.”

“Wizards born of Imperials have been trained to protect ourselves from magic.”

“That’s convenient!”

Kashur wiped his face with a gloved hand. The Imperials weren’t going to hand over this new magic to the stewardship of the Wizards easily. That meant one thing—showtime.

“Perhaps a demonstration will settle this.” Mol Morin pulled his fingers away, and the crystal remained suspended in mid-air, the power pulsing inside it. “Summoner, two goblets, please.”

Kashur sprang from his seat and snatched two half-empty chalices from in front of a pair of surprised Dwarves.

“His Majesty is familiar with material magic, is he not?” Mol Morin centered one of the goblets on the table in front of him. “The proper incantation combined with a token movement can produce this.”

His lips and hands moved, and the liquid inside one goblet swelled and crackled as it froze. Tender wisps of sublimation rose from the chalice as Kashur lifted it and made a show of displaying it to the room. He handed it back to the Dwarf to inspect and pass along. Kenji looked unimpressed.

“And now, what happens when I add the crystal’s power?” Mol Morin plucked the shard from the air and repeated the spell on the second goblet.

The room held its breath as the purple light waxed and waned. The second goblet wobbled on the table, its contents forced suddenly from liquid state to solid. White tendrils of sublimation rose. But the magic didn’t stop there. Ice crystals formed on the goblet’s cup, then grew and swelled over its lip and down its stem to its base, spilling along the tabletop like a ravenous liquid. The guests lifted their own drinks and held them aloft as the ice spread. Some pushed back their chairs. One of the Dwarves cried out, holding up an unfortunate, frostbitten finger.

The table was now covered in a sheet of ice. A gentle hum could be heard as the ice penetrated into the rock surface of the table. The stone slab shuddered once before a deafening sound rent the air. Surprised faces stared at the black crack splitting the stone.